


The Magic Number

by Chibiness87



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Introspection, Pre-Relationship, Rumpelstiltskin can be a bit of a blind idiot, but we love him anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: He never saw her coming.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	The Magic Number

**The magic number** , by **chibiness87**  
 **Rating** : G  
 **Disclaimer** : not mine.

 **Summary** : He never saw her coming.

* * *

It is widely regarded as a fact throughout the magical world that the number three is the most powerful number there is. Three fates ruling their domain, and any transgressions coming back threefold. Even Rumpelstiltskin, for all the magic he possess and all the deals he has struck, is aware of this price that magic demands, and therefore his price is always at least threefold that which is demanded of him.

So it surprises him when, one letter of a plea for help and a trip to a small, quaint little kingdom later, he never quite saw her coming.

* * *

Three seconds in, he spots her.

He doesn’t know who she is, not right then, but she is quite hard to miss, even as a brute of a man tries to keep her behind him. But she is dressed in gold (how fitting, he’ll think later, that she was dressed as such even on their first meeting) and the gown is not exactly… subtle.

And then she is pushing her way forward, pushing her way _towards_ instead of away from him, and his curiosity is piqued.

Three seconds in, and his day has suddenly gotten very interesting.

* * *

Three minutes in, he has his deal.

And it’s nothing like the deal he originally thought he would be making with the lord of this land, but there is something about her, about Belle, that draws him to her from across the room. That she is obviously the most treasured to the nobleman (his instant reaction when he named his price attributing to that) is just an added quirk.

Because it is not just her position which has attracted him… it is her.

Her spark, her strength, her determination to meet his gaze when all the men in the room cower behind her skirts. It is like she does not quite know who he is (or does, and doesn’t that just make her reaction all the more enticing?) and she all but demands to be taken away with him. And really, who is he to refuse?

Three minutes in, he leaves with her on his arm.

* * *

Three hours in, the consequences of his deal hit him.

He has acquired a, well, a Belle.

And for all the deals he has made in the past regarding actual humans, they have always been… smaller. Younger. Most of the time more portable and unaware of the nature of what is going on around them. (There are exceptions, of course… a certain shepherd urgently parading around as a prince being the most obvious example.)

But unlike any other human, she is not the merchandise, she is the currency. And his.

His to demand, well, whatever he can think of for her to do.

There are obvious things, like dusting, and ironing, and he may even permit her to make tea once in a while, but beyond that, what, exactly, does one do with a Belle? She breaks his cup at her first task, and while a part of his is annoyed, another part of him is thrilled. To have someone of so obvious noble blood to cook and clean for him when his true background is as far away from nobility as it is possible to fall… well.

He can’t say he isn't a little amused by it all.

But he cannot possibly spend an eternity with her (because, after all, she promised him forever) if she is going to drop all his china every time he wants a cup of tea.

Three hours in, he wonders, for the first time, what exactly he was thinking to name her as his price?

* * *

Three days in, he gives her a bedroom.

And clothes and shoes and cloaks and as much freedom as he possibly can while still keeping making it look as if he is keeping her caged. But she no longer has bars across her window, and has more than straw on which to rest her head at night. He is not doing this out of the kindness of his heart, he tells himself, because he is a beast and a monster and his heart was hardened against such follies when he lost his son, but it does at least help with the weeping.

With the bedroom comes an immediate increase in the quality of her work. The floors get actually swept, the tables get dusted, and she stops jumping whenever he just appears behind her shoulder (without the additional flare of smoke to warn her). Her tea making ability increases, and he has not had a single crockery incident after that fist cup that he still demands to use (not in a way to say he doesn’t mind if she were to chip it, nor because of the way she stroked the chipped rim, but because, well, does he really need a reason?)

Three days in, the promise of forever no longer seems so bad.

* * *

Three weeks in, he gives her a library.

He is very explicit about this; it is not a gift. It is not an act of kindness. It is something else to keep her busy little hands occupied with so she will stop doing foolish things like befriending thieves and then releasing them.

It has nothing to do with the hug she bestowed upon him when he missed shooting said thief with a supposed magic bow. It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with the look of relief she shot to him after he ripped out the tongue of the sheriff for demanding payment for 20 minutes with her innocent self. (And he is not focusing on the fact her reaction was more befitting that of a saviour, of a knight, than a monster. Not thinking about that at all.)

Three weeks in, he starts paying attention.

* * *

Three months in, he admits he might have made a mistake.

She is a clumsy thing, his little maid. Falling off ladders and into the clutches of a beast, into the clutches of queens. He finds himself constantly keeping one ear open for her and her alone, turning deaf to the pleas that, even now, still assault his senses. Desperation is such a sickly smell, one he has been accustomed to for almost three centuries, and yet it is her startled yelp he rushes to over any other cry.

And he would be annoyed, should be annoyed, but the look in her eye at each rescue does something to his heart which he doesn’t quite understand, and yet he finds himself yearning for it all the more.

When she asks to know him, he doesn’t turn her away, but begins to tell her about his life, as much as he can bear it. The truth about having a son, about losing him. She doesn’t say anything, just lays her hand on his, and it is this, this softness, that makes him realise he needs to let her go before she is tainted by him and his darkness forever.

Three months in, he realises he loves her.

* * *

Three years in, he casts a curse.

No.

Rephrase.

He finally gets Regina, she of the black dresses and evil plots and scheming ways (he is very careful to no think about his little maid when he thinks about the woman everyone knows as the Evil Queen. That wound is still fresh; will always be fresh) to cast a curse. He has been stuck staring at the same four walls (three walls and a mouth of bars) for the past few months, and gods, was waiting always this tedious?

He hasn’t had access to his spinning wheel in months, and all the memories he has pushed back and away have been his sole company for far too long. Even when those still desperate enough for his help had sought him out he can still feel the memories at the edge of his conscious.

Bae, he reminds himself, it’s all for Bae.

He very pointedly does not look to the darkest corner of his cell where he is certain he can almost feel Belle look on, sadness and hurt in her eyes, demanding he do better, be better. But she’s dead now, as dead as she has been for the past three years even if she still haunts him as if she were still here, still alive, so she doesn’t get a say.

Three years in, their world is consumed by darkness, and he finally finds peace.

* * *

Three decades in, he dies.

He must be dead. Surely, must have died. Right at the end, just before he could go out into this new world and find his son. Somewhere between getting the precious egg containing the potion of true love and right at this very second, he must have died a very sudden death. Because she cannot be here. Cannot be standing in his shop in this cursed town calling him Mr. Gold and asking him to protect her.

Because she died. She died she died _she died_. So the only explanation, the _only_ explanation, is that he has died too.

Except, it’s not the only explanation. Belle, his precious maid, his true love, is giving him another explanation, and suddenly magic needs to be returned to this little town right bloody now, because Regina needs to die. Slowly. Painfully. Drip by drip of her lifeblood flowing out of her, pain in her chest so deep and powerful she will never escape it.

Slowly, he pulls the fragile shell of what should be, could be, _will_ _be_ Belle into his arms, promising her he will protect her.

He has broken exactly one deal in his three centuries of living; he will not break this one.

Three decades in, he kisses her in the sunlight of a far-away kingdom in a land without magic, and the world doesn’t end.

* * *

End


End file.
